


Until I Find You

by TheGentlemanBastard



Category: Love Live! School Idol Festival (Video Game), Love Live! School Idol Project
Genre: Adulthood, Alcohol, Angst, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Depression, Drama & Romance, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, au-ish, buckle up lads its gonna be a bumpy ride, but will also probably be cheesy at points, new title who dis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-05-29 01:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15062492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGentlemanBastard/pseuds/TheGentlemanBastard
Summary: Once upon a time, Nico was the biggest rising star in the idol industry, universally adored by crowds of screaming fans, with a loving family and wonderful friends. Then an incident with her mental health causes her to quietly leave the industry and withdraw into solitude as she tries to rebuild her life. Struggling to write music and plagued by depression, she is overcome with a strange feeling of loss, as though there is something missing from her life. Something precious. Something she needs.But however hard she tries, she can't figure out what that something is.Formerly "Threads Undone"





	1. Searching

It was half-past-midnight. Nico was sitting at her desk chair, staring with an aggravated expression at an acoustic guitar propped up against the wall, her elbows resting on her knees and her fingers steepled in front of her face. She had been in this position for four hours (or five, she had kind of lost track of time), trying her best to think up some clever melody or chord progression or line of lyrics… or literally fucking anything.

By this time, she had given up and was wondering if staring at her guitar for just a bit longer would finally make the music happen. It didn’t. The obstinate instrument just sat there, as though it was taunting her. Nico squinted and huffed. _Stupid instrument._ Her frustration, combined with the muggy mid-July air, was starting to make her sweat. With a groan, she leaned back in her chair and let her eyes wander all around her study.

It was a decently-sized room for its purposes, comfortably furnished with a plush sofa behind a mahogany coffee table that matched her desk. The walls around her were lined with tall bookshelves crammed with books on music theory and history, idol magazines, and a few volumes of manga; all of the open spaces had posters plastered onto them, with pictures of a somewhat-younger looking Nico. The poster-Nico’s eyes were sparkling with youth and happiness and her hands were thrown up in that stupid pose that she hadn’t used in God knows how long.

When she initially decorated this space, she put those posters up in the hopes that they might be encouraging to her, by reminding her of a time when she was actually successful and happy. The end result was mixed, to say the least.

On the wall opposite her desk was a window and a door that led to a small recording booth. Various bits of recording equipment were pushed against the wall beneath the window, covered in a thin layer of dust. The rest of the room itself was covered in a thin layer of fast food wrappers, empty coffee mugs, and beer and rum bottles. The true artist’s lifestyle, you might say.

Her light-pink eyes settled on the empty bottles littering the coffee table, making her realize how thirsty she was. And how sober she was. With a final look of resentment at her guitar, she pulled herself out of her chair with a sigh and began the arduous trek downstairs, idly wondering if she should install a liquor cabinet in her study as she walked out into the upstairs balcony that overlooked her living room.

Unlike her study, the living room was clutter-free, largely due to disuse. It was a large, spacious room with a hardwood floor and wood-paneled walls. The wall opposite the main entrance had a set of French double doors surrounded by massive windows that opened up to a veranda overlooking the beach. In the center of the room was a plush sofa and armchair that all pointed to a flatscreen TV that was mounted just a few feet below the balcony railing. On the balcony, the door to her study was one of four, the others leading to a bathroom and two bedrooms.

Nico descended the stairs and crossed the expanse of her living room, lingering as she came up to the coffee table in front of the sofa. Aside from a set of candles, the TV remote, and a thin layer of dust, the only thing on the table was the latest issue of _IDOL JUMP_. Nico made a point not to look at the glossy cover of the magazine, which was dominated with what looked like a covertly taken picture of Nico in her street clothes. Aside from the other article titles peppered over the cover, the main headline read “Nico-Nii: Where is She Now, Fans Wonder?” Even though she didn’t look at it, she already knew what was on it, having read the headline and article no less than twelve times since it had been delivered earlier that morning. Every time she did, it gave her a lingering feeling of anxiety, which she felt even as she tried her best to avoid eye contact with it. She sighed, making a mental note to put the magazine away at some point, and continued her trek to the kitchen, before she was stopped a second time by the chiming of her doorbell.

She halted in front of the open entryway to the dining room and turned to the foyer leading to her front door. From across the room, she could just barely make out the faint shadow her porchlight cast against the curtained window panes around her door. Her breathing stopped as a knot formed in her throat. _Who is that?_

The doorbell rang again.

Nico took a step further away from the foyer as her eyes fell back to the glossy magazine cover lying on the coffee table. _Who else knows I’m here?_ She quickly ran through the list in her head. Only her friends and family knew her address, and they would have known to call before coming. So, who else? She had gathered thousands of fans throughout her career, but no stalkers that she knew about. Right?

Her heart started pounding and her imagination went into overdrive as she started contemplating how easy it would be to climb down the veranda. Or maybe she could sneak into the kitchen and grab a knife to defend herself.

The doorbell rang a third time, this time accompanied by a familiar voice.

“Dammit Nico, I know you’re home!”

Nico breathed a sigh of relieve as she recognized the voice of her best friend, Yukiho Kousaka. After taking a brief moment to calm her heart, she strode over to the door and wrenched it open. Yukiho stood on her porch looking as though she had spent all of five seconds getting dressed, her short copper hair glimmering under the dim porchlight. Her face bore a scowl, which Nico returned easily.

“I thought I asked you to call before dropping by.”

Yukiho shifted her weight to one leg and placed a hand on her hip. “My phone was dead.”

“What makes you think I have the time to entertain? I could have other plans tonight.”

“Besides trying to write music and wallowing in self-pity?”

Nico winced. _Ever with the brutal honesty_. It probably came from having Space Cadet Honoka as an older sister. She quickly tried to regain her composure. “Y-Yes.”

“Do you?”

Nico stared Yukiho down. As harsh as the two friends’ words were, there was no true animosity between them. This sort of vitriolic banter was something of a tradition between them whenever they got together. And as usual, Yukiho won. Nico stepped aside with a sigh. “Come on, you’re letting the bugs in.”

With a smug smirk, Yukiho stepped into the foyer, pulling a large wheeled suitcase after her, which Nico somehow hadn’t noticed. She regarded the luggage with a raised eyebrow, which Yukiho pointedly ignored as she slipped out of her shoes.

“So, um…”

“I was planning on staying for a couple of days. That’s not a problem, is it?”

Nico winced at the terse tone in Yukiho’s voice; she was starting to suspect that there was more to it than friendly banter. “That’s fine. I’ll take that up to the guest room—”

“Leave it for now. I need a drink.” She stepped out of the foyer and dropped the purse strapped to her arm on the nearest sofa before walking to the kitchen, leaving Nico staring dumbly at the empty entryway. She quickly followed Yukiho into the kitchen as she began rooting through a glass liquor cabinet. “You seriously need to get more than just rum and beer.”

Nico shrugged as she opened the fridge. “I like what I like,” she said, pulling out a two-liter of cola. “There should be a bottle of vodka in the freezer from when Eli and Nozomi last visited.”

Nico eyed Yukiho as she spoke and saw her fingers clench around the glass of the cabinet door when she brought up Eli, the older sister of Yukiho’s girlfriend. _I see._

“Rum’s fine.” She pulled out a bottle and pulled off the cap, taking a quick swig. Nico set the cola on the counter in front of her and pulled down two glass tumblers from the cabinet above her head. As Yukiho slammed the rum on the counter, Nico decided it was time for the interrogation.

“So, how’s Alisa doing?”

Yukiho stared at the bottle in front of her, not looking up to meet Nico’s gaze. _Thought so_.

“Another fight?”

There was no response at first, and the room sunk into an awkward silence, where the only sound was the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the occasional caw of a seagull. Yukiho grabbed one of the tumblers next to Nico’s hands and started pouring the rum. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, sliding the filled glass over to Nico, who took it in both of her hands, suddenly not in the mood to drink.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Yukiho started filling her own glass. “You don’t need to—”

“It was about me, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Yukiho set the bottle back on the counter, probably more forcefully than she meant to, letting out an aggravated sigh as she did.

“Okay…?”

“Alisa wants me to think about another career.”

“Because yours isn’t going anywhere.”

“Yes.”

“Because of me.”

“No, that’s…” Yukiho pursed her lips and lightly drummed her fingers on the countertop’s marble surface. Nico stared at the amber-colored liquid in her glass, suddenly feeling two-feet tall. Yukiho could protest all she wanted; Nico knew the truth.

With another sigh, Yukiho took a small sip of her drink. The bottle of cola stayed forgotten on the counter. When she spoke again, her voice was more gentle, as though she were speaking to a frightened kitten. “When I decided I wanted to do music for the rest of my life, you’re the one I chose to do it with. That was my choice. And it hasn’t changed, so stop beating yourself up over it.”

Nico shook her head with a tortured smile. “A terrible choice, really.”

Yukiho looked back at her with daggers in her eyes, her words firm and deliberate. “It was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

“What, turn down an invitation from a successful idol group to work with an old has-been who can’t even write music?”

“But you can! You have!”

“Yeah. Have. Past tense.” Nico turned away, a scowl on her face. She knew this argument wouldn’t go anywhere, just like it hadn’t the last ten times they had it. Sulking, she threw the fridge door back open and tossed in the untouched soda bottle, not caring where it landed.

“…so you’re still not coming up with anything.”

The door slammed shut. “No, so if you came here for new stuff, then you might as well fuck off.” She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth.

There was another silence as Nico clutched onto the fridge handle, slumping her shoulders and leaning her forehead against the cold metal door. She mentally cursed herself for her stupid fat mouth and bitchy attitude. A lump formed in her throat and she almost wanted to cry, but she had no strength to do so. She had always been short for her age, but suddenly she felt like she was two-feet tall.

She heard footsteps approach and felt Yukiho gently touch her shoulder. “Do you want me to?”

Nico weakly shook her head. She felt selfish for doing so, but she knew that Yukiho would see right through her if she lied. “Please don’t.” Her voice came out small and quiet like a mouse.

Yukiho patted her shoulder. “Okay.”

 The two friends stayed like that for a while. Nico opened her mouth to try to come up with… an apology? A _thank-you_? She didn’t really know what she could say in that moment, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should say something. After a while, Yukiho finally broke the silence. “I brought my bass with me, so we can play together tomorrow. It might help you come up with something.”

Nico turned around to face her, leaning her back against the fridge. “Yeah. That sounds good.” The words felt hollow coming out of Nico’s mouth. At this point, she couldn’t imagine anything helping her.

“Cool.” The two faced one another without looking at each other, Yukiho nervously shuffling her feet and Nico trying to swallow the lump in her throat. Finally, Yukiho turned away and picked up her glass, downing the rest of its contents and setting it in the sink. “Guess I’ll start unpacking.”

Nico nodded. “Need any help?”

“I’ll be fine. You just go and get some sleep.” As she made her way out of the kitchen, she stopped at the entryway and turned back to Nico. “I meant what I said, by the way. I don’t think you’re a has-been.”

There was a warm smile on her face that Nico had to force herself to try and return. She knew it wasn’t particularly convincing, but it was better than nothing. “Thanks. Good night.”

With an almost too-enthusiastic _you too_ , Yukiho vanished behind the wall, her footsteps against the wooden floor echoing throughout house.

Nico stood in the middle of her kitchen, unsure how to feel. At the very least, she was happy to have someone else in the house. Yet…

She stepped over to the counter and capped the now half-empty rum before placing it back in the cabinet. Her hands lingered on the countertop, before moving to the drawer beneath it. This was her junk drawer, which was filled with miscellaneous crap like a lighter (even though she was probably the only washed-up ex-idol who didn’t have a smoking problem), a tape measure (she didn’t build things and she stopped measuring herself when she quit growing in middle school), and several bottle openers (okay, those at least saw plenty of use). She rifled through the contents of the drawer until she felt what she was looking for. She pulled out a small dusty photograph of eight high-school girls, including Nico herself, her eyes sparling with vigor and her hair pulled into those trademark twintails that she had worn all through her idol career and not much longer afterwards. Her eyes scanned the photo, looking over each individual girl. Her high-school friends and the former members of μ’s, her old school-idol group.

Nico let out a sigh. Yukiho could protest all she wanted, Nico knew the truth. She had peaked long ago, even before going pro. Even at the height of her career, she knew all-too-well that feeling of wanting to go back to a simpler time when all you had to worry about was homework and dance practices. When all Nico had to do was show up and be cheerful while Honoka made the decisions (even though she knew how much she had resented it at the time). No stressing out as you try to come up with your own stuff, and all she had to do was learn the dances that were choreographed by Eli, the words written by Umi, and the music written by…

Nico’s brow furrowed. She scanned her eyes over the photograph one more time. The same eight girls looked back at her.

The music written by…

By…

Nico swayed uneasily, a dull throb suddenly pounding at her head. Had she drunk any of her rum, she would have thought she was getting tipsy. But she was still very much sober.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong, but she couldn’t place why.

She scanned the photo a third time, deliberately studying each girl as she did. _Who… who wrote our music again?_

She tried with all her might to think back. It wasn’t Hanayo, or Rin, or Kotori, or Nozomi. So who? She could remember when the music was written, in the dusty music room of Otonokizaka High, the late-afternoon sun illuminating a black baby grand piano as its strings released a gentle tune, and the figure sitting at the keys…

Nico shook her head. Who was it? She couldn’t imagine a face or place any names, just a soft melody flowing from the piano strings and into her ears like a cold stream of water. A gentle, trickling melody that she was all-too familiar with, as it had been haunting her dreams for as long as she could remember. But she could never remember where she first heard it (it certainly wasn’t a μ’s song, as there weren’t any lyrics to it), and whenever she would try to repeat it the following morning, she would come up blank. But it was always there, lurking in the recesses of her subconscious, as though it existed for no other purpose than to taunt an impotent musician.

The pounding in her head was growing unbearable as Nico slowly started to feel herself slip away. The harder she tried to remember, the more her body seemed to reject it. Eventually, the photo slipped through her loosened fingers, and Nico lurched backwards as she lost her balance and her consciousness soon after. The only thing in her mind as she blacked out was that image of a dusty music room and the gentle sound of that taunting melody.

\--

_Her whole life, she has been searching for something._

_She thought she might find it in the din of an audience cheering her name, bright lights flashing all around her, a cacophonous thrum of heavy bass ringing in her ears, her sweaty body strutting along the stage in choreographed movement as she struggled to remember the lyrics written for her. But it wasn’t there._

_She thought she might find it in the city, surrounded by concrete mountains reaching up to the sky, boxing her in and making her feel as free as a starling. All around her, a torrent of humanity, hundreds of lives briefly intersecting with her own; threads twisting together and coming undone. A great wave of life, as inconstant and ever-changing as the ocean itself. But it wasn’t there._

_She thought she might find it in the comfort of a living room, the laughter of close friends and family sharing their lives as the gentle aroma of tea and cooking food fill the air. Surely, this is where she could be happy. But then her friends are gone, leaving her as they go back to their own lives, and the warm scents of fellowship are replaced with the lingering stench of dirty dishes soaking in her sink. And it isn’t there._

_And when the door has closed, and she is alone in her living room once again, she sinks to the floor, head in her arms, and allows the tears she has been holding in to freely fall from her face. Not because she can’t find it. Not because she has long since given up hope, nor because she doesn’t know where else to look._

_She cries because she still doesn’t know what she is searching for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a side project I'll be working on when I'm not writing other stuff, so I can't promise super frequent updates, but I do very much intend to finish it. This was also my first attempt at writing anything for Love Live, so I'm still very much getting a handle on writing these characters (just attribute any OOC moments to it being AU and long after canon).
> 
> For real though, I would very much appreciate any constructive criticism. This will be my first attempt at writing anything longer than a short story, so I really could use the feedback.
> 
> Also, if anyone's confused about what tf is going on in this universe, then 1) good, and 2) feel free to leave your guesses in the comments.
> 
> EDIT: Just a small change; I altered Yukiho's line "I brought my keyboard with me," to "I brought my bass with me." I initially meant for her to be a pianist, but at some point changed it to a bassist/guitarist and just forgot to edit that line.


	2. How Not to Make Friends

Nico was in the music room of Otonokizaka High, the amber rays of the setting sun cascading in through the uncovered window as she leaned against a dusty chalkboard. A figure sat at the piano, the image of whom was blurry and unfocused to Nico’s eyes. They were playing that same melody that had been echoing in her ears for as long as she could remember. Was it a melody of Nico’s creation, or the stranger in front of her?

But Nico knew that this person wasn’t a stranger. She knew who they were. Somehow.

“Who are you?”

The melody stopped. “What do you care?” The voice that came out was lifeless and without personality, like something computer generated.

Bewildered, Nico shook her head. “I don’t know. But I feel like I’ve seen you before. I think I’ve had this dream before. And it always ends the same.”

She looked back at the figure and squinted, but as hard as she tried she could make out nothing. She shook her head again. “Why are you haunting me like this?”

“You’re the one who’s haunting me. I’m just trying to forget about you, and yet you’re always here in the back of my mind. Why do you stay here? Why is it so hard for me to forget you?” Nico felt the hairs on her arms stand up as the voice grew less robotic and more emotional. More anguished. “I don’t remember your name, and I can’t even see your face. So, why . . .”

The stranger’s voice grew in volume until it was shouting at Nico. They whipped their head around and stared her in the eyes.

“. . . why don’t you just leave me alone!?”

The words echoed through Nico’s mind as she shot awake, jolted into a sitting position as a heavy duvet fell off her sweat-covered torso. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, her lungs taking massive, desperate gulps of air, and her ears filled only with the shouting of a harsh, raspy voice that faded as she became more reacclimated to her surroundings.

She was in her bedroom. The window was open, letting in the salty sea air, and it was some time around midmorning, judging by the small sliver of the sun that was still peeking out from the top of her window. Everything around her seemed normal. No dusty music rooms, no haunting melodies, and no indistinguishable phantoms. She was home.

As she finally began to calm down, she heard a mechanical click, followed by the creaking of her bedroom door and Yukiho poking her head in the room. She locked eyes with Nico, and her look of concern melted into a relieved smile as she stepped in.

“Oh, thank God, you’re awake. I was just about to start dragging to the nearest hospital.” She walked over to the bed, carrying a tall glass and a pitcher of water in her hands. “How do you feel?”

The moment she said that, Nico realized that she had a splitting headache. She winced at the dull, throbbing pain and clutched a hand to her forehead. “ _Fuck_ . . .” she muttered.

“Figures,” Yukiho replied as she leaned over the nightstand and started pouring a glass of water. “It sounded like you hit your head pretty hard against the floor. It wasn’t bleeding or anything, so I don’t think it was a concussion. Sure as hell gave me a scare, though.”

She handed the glass to Nico, who downed it in two gulps, surprised by how thirsty she was. When she finished, Yukiho took the glass from her hand and refilled it. Nico downed it just as quickly and slammed the glass on the nightstand. “Thanks,” she said, her voice strained.

Yukiho shrugged. “No worries. Alisa and Sis are both next to useless when they get sick, so I’m used to taking care of people.” As she spoke, she started pouring a third glass, emptying out the pitcher. “So, what happened to you anyways?”

Nico’s eyes wandered over to the open window, squinting against the Sun’s rays. Her head was still pounding, but she could easily remember. She couldn’t tell Yukiho, of course, but she did remember.

“I dunno, really. I probably just haven’t been getting enough sleep.”

“Been staying up all night trying to work?”

She nodded, and suddenly, as if being summon by just the mention of writing music, there it was again. A melody, filling her head, equally as enchanting as it was infuriating. With a sigh, she threw her head back onto the pillow, trying to focus all of her attention on the throbbing pain in her skull, hoping that that would shut the music up.

“I’m just glad I got here when I did,” Yukiho said, gently patting Nico’s hand and bringing her attention back out of her head. “Who knows what would have happened if you had been alone.”

“I can just imagine the magazine headlines. ‘ _Reclusive ex-idol Nico-Nii found dead in her beach home! The jury is out: Alcohol or Suicide!?’_ ”

Yukiho bit her lower lip, brow furrowed. “Yeah, I saw the last issue of _IDOL JUMP_.”

“The price of my five minutes of fame, I suppose,” Nico said with a snort.

“Come on, even people in the industry don’t take that rag seriously. You really shouldn’t worry about it.”

Nico’s eyes turned back to the window. After a while, she asked, “Could you grab me something for my head?”

Looking as though she wanted to say something else, Yukiho sighed and said, “Sure. Drowsy or non-drowsy?”

Nico repressed a shudder and immediately said, “Non-drowsy. I’m good on sleep for a while.”

If Yukiho thought that comment was weird, she didn’t say anything about it. She was just about to leave, before something else occurred to Nico.

“Wait, Yukiho!”

She paused at the door and turned back.

“Um…” Nico’s eyes fell to the garish bright pink of her bedcovers, her hands clutching at the soft fabric.

_Shit, how do I ask this?_

“Nico? What’s wrong?” Yukiho walked back to the bed, speaking in the tone of voice that she usually used when she didn’t want to upset Nico and provoke an emotional breakdown. Normally she found it overly-warm and slightly patronizing, but in this rare instance it did actually put her at ease somewhat.

Nico took a deep breath. “Okay. This is going to sound like a really stupid question, so you have to promise that you’re not going to make fun of me.”

Yukiho raised an eyebrow, clearly both confused and intrigued. “Okay? What is it?”

Nico bit her lip as her cheeks started to match the pink of her duvet. “Who . . .” her voice was barely audible. “Who wrote all of the songs for μ’s?”

Yukiho didn’t answer right away. Nico was certain that she was about to start laughing at her, but when she looked back she saw Yukiho’s eyes widen and her hand come up to cover her mouth in shock. “You . . . really don’t remember?”

Nico shook her head, that familiar sense of unease bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

Yukiho sat back down and took Nico’s hands into her own. Never breaking eye contact, she said, “You did.”

Nico blinked. “I did?”

“Yes,” Yukiho said with a nod. “All of the music you guys performed was written by you. That was why I chose you as my partner, because you wrote some of my favorite songs from my teenage years.” She tilted her head, trying and failing to hide the worry growing on her face. “You seriously don’t remember that?”

“No.”

Yukiho continued staring at Nico, who continued shifting her gaze as far away as possible. Eventually, Yukiho sat back up and gently stroked Nico’s hair. “You’re probably still a little addled from the fall. Try and get some rest, and I’ll grab you some medicine, okay?”

She stiffly nodded as Yukiho turned away to walk out of the room. Alone again, she fell back, letting her head hit the pillow as she mulled over Yukiho’s words. She couldn’t have written those songs, right? Surely, she would remember?

Nico reached over to her right and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. After a few taps, she found herself on the Wikipedia article for μ’s, looking at the “Members” section. Sure enough:

 **Nico Yazawa –** Vocals and songwriting/composing

She ran her eyes over that sentence four more times, just to be sure she was reading it correctly. So Yukiho was telling the truth. Her hand fell back to the bed, her phone unceremoniously tossed to the side.

 _That’s right_ , she told herself. _Honoka was the center. Eli did the choreography, Kotori made the costumes, Umi wrote the lyrics, and I wrote the music._

_I wrote the music._

_I wrote the music._

But no matter how many times she repeated it to herself, it never sounded right to her, as though she was trying to convince herself that the sky was green. As she kept repeating those words to herself, she began to drift off to sleep, that God-forsaken melody playing in her head all the while.

\--

Despite what she said before, Nico had no trouble sleeping through the rest of the day, and by the time she woke up the next morning her headache was gone and her mind was clear. She was so ready to be up and moving again, especially since Yukiho had taken it upon herself to start cleaning the house during her convalescence. Yukiho had other ideas, however.

“Don’t worry about it; you just need to rest!”

“I already told you that I’m feeling better!”

They had that argument at least five times that day, until Nico finally gave up and resigned herself to laying uselessly in bed as she watched Yukiho pick up the dirty clothes that had been carelessly strewn all over the floor. Nico hadn’t actually noticed until just then how long it had been since she’d done laundry. As she worked, Yukiho had a smile on her face and was humming an old μ’s song, the name of which escaped Nico. She was trying to appear happy and energetic, but Nico could see the rings under her eyes and the poorly-concealed fear that would cross her face whenever she glanced up at Nico.

Worst of all was the way that, every once in a while, she would slow down until she was just standing in the middle of the room, clutching a garment in her hands and staring off into space. After a few seconds, she would snap out of her reverie and continue as if nothing had happened.

And it made Nico feel so confused, because she knew that Yukiho was just trying to keep her from worrying, but she was so bad at hiding her own concern that it just made her feel worse. Eventually, she reached a breaking point.

“You really don’t have to do this,” she finally said, as Yukiho was about halfway through clearing the debris of brightly-colored cloth.

“It’s fine.” Yukiho looked up at her with a giant fake smile. “I’m used to it anyways; Alisa and Sis are both useless at chores.”

“No, I mean you don’t have to pretend that you’re not worried about me.”

Yukiho stopped working, her eye twitching as her façade started to crack. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been completely doting over me ever since yesterday, acting all nice and shit. It’s kinda been freaking me out.”

“I’m just trying to help.” The plastic smile began melting off of her face.

“I know, but you can’t just keep me confined to a bed all day, while trying to pretend like there’s nothing wrong. I can tell you’re worried about me, so stop acting like you’re not.”

Yukiho looked down, wringing the shirt in her hands before tossing it into the basket next to her. “I’m always worrying about you.”

“You are? Why?”

“Why do you think?” she replied with a bitter laugh. “You hole yourself up all alone in this big house. You never talk to anyone, not even your closest friends or family . . . I was joking about it before, but I constantly worry about getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night, saying that you were found dead in your house from alcohol poisoning, or . . . or worse.”

The words poured out of Yukiho’s mouth as though they had been held back for years and were desperate to escape. Nico shrank into her covers. Of course, she knew what Yukiho was talking about. A day never went by without her thinking about how horrible and useless she was when it came to keeping in touch.

“Yukiho…”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. You know I don’t fully understand everything you’re going through, but I can’t imagine that shutting yourself off from society is doing you any good.”

Nico opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn’t find the words. She knew Yukiho was right. She was all too familiar with the sinking feeling of loneliness that accompanied her lowest moments, and she could easily remember all of the times when she felt the need to talk to someone, only to find herself unable to gather the energy to pick up her phone.

“Isn’t that why you’re here though?”

Yukiho sputtered in surprise as her cheeks tinged pink. She turned her head away from Nico and slowly said, “I can’t stay here forever. At some point I’ll have to go home and face Alisa.”

“. . . are you mad at me?”

Yukiho sighed and shook her head. “No. Just worried. Do you ever talk to anyone outside of our group?”

“I sometimes make small talk with the mailman?”

“So, no.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Nico said with a huff. “There’s not much socializing to be had out here in the boonies.”

“What about the cabin next door?”

Nico tilted her head in confusion. Her house was on a secluded lake shore, with only one other home next door, which had been unoccupied ever since she moved in.

Yukiho saw her confused look and responded with her own look of incredulity. “You didn’t know that someone moved in next door?”

 “No. When?”

“Sometime before I came here, I imagine. I noticed that the “For Sale” sign was gone, and there was a car parked outside.” Yukiho’s eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together. “But this is perfect!”

“I-It is?”

“Of course it is! It’s a chance for you to finally get out and make some new friends. We’ll go over there as soon as you’re feeling better.”

Nico’s heart sank to the floor. “Wait wh—”

Oblivious to her protests, Yukiho sprung off the bed and grabbed the laundry basket. “You should get some rest for now. I’ll throw these in and get started on lunch.”

She was gone before Nico could get another word in. Defeated, Nico threw the duvet over her head with a groan, feeling that her life was much simpler when she was wallowing alone in self-pity.

\--

As much as she wished otherwise, Nico knew that there would be no changing Yukiho’s mind. And, to be honest, despite her reservations, she could help but be a little curious as to who these new neighbors were herself. So, she allowed herself to be dragged out of her house for the first time in ages and marched to the large cabin next door. It was at the end of the road, which from there looped back into itself, splitting off into a gravel path that led down a grassy slope to the beach below. There were also houses on the other side of Nico’s house, much further down the road, but this end was dominated by the previously-abandoned cabin and the gated off land that accompanied it. It was nearly identical in construction and style to Nico’s own home, entirely wooden, with two stories and large windows up and down the walls.

When Yukiho rang the bell on the fence gate, it was early evening, and they were hoping that the neighbors were home, since there was no car visible in the driveway. Well, Yukiho was hoping. Nico could have gone either way.

A few seconds passed, and there was no reply. Yukiho rang again. After a few more seconds, a weak, raspy voice echoed out of the crackly intercom speaker. Nico assumed it was a woman’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey! We’re your neighbors from next door; we just wanted to say hello.”

“. . . okay?”

Yukiho looked back at Nico, who shrugged her shoulders as she clutched onto the far-too-expensive bottle of wine that Yukiho had insisted on bringing. “Umm . . . may we come in?”

“Ugh. Sure.”

“She sounds friendly,” Nico said as the gate swung open.

“She’s probably just tired from moving.”

“Good thing we won’t be bothering her.”

They stepped onto the front porch, Yukiho glaring at Nico, and Nico avoiding eye contact. Just as she was about to raise a hand to knock on the white-painted wooden door, it creaked open an inch, revealing a sliver of a violet eye and a face cast in shadow.

“Hello?” Her voice was barely audible.

“Hello!” Yukiho chirped. “My name is Yukiho Kousaka. This is Nico Yazawa. We live next door.”

 _We?_ Nico thought with a frown.

The neighbor’s eye dart from Yukiho to Nico, who gave a curt bow in spite of herself.

“Nishikino.”

“Nishikino,” Yukiho repeated. “That’s a lovely name. Isn’t it lovely Nico?”

“Yeah, its beautiful.” Nico shuffled her feet. There was something . . . unnerving about the way this woman was looking at her. Like she was trying to carve a hole into her chest with her eyes. Nico couldn’t shake the feeling that this Nishikino, whom she had just met not one minute ago, absolutely despised her. But of course, she couldn’t say anything about it. That would just make the situation even more awkward, right?

Then again, as Nico and this strange woman glared at each other through a cracked door, and Yukiho darted her eyes between them, trying desperately to make small talk, Nico wondered if it was even possible for this situation to be more awkward.

 “So,” Yukiho said, in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation going, “how long ago did you move in?”

“About a week.”

“Is it just you?”

“Yeah.”

“It must be exhausting, moving all on your own. If you ever need any help, we’d be more than happy to—”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

Nico clenched her jaw as she watched the conversation grind to a halt. _What the hell is this woman’s deal?_ She quickly concluded that she didn’t much care for this Nishikino either.

“Wine!” Yukiho blurted out after what felt like an eternity of awkwardly standing on this rude girl’s porch. She snatched the bottle of wine out of Nico’s hands and thrust it in front of her. “We brought you some wine. As a housewarming gift.”

Nishikino’s eyes widened as she stared at the gold-laced bottle. She parted the door slightly, revealing the rest of her face. Fair-skinned with sharp features—she would have been pretty were it not for the fact that her face clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks, or for the sneer that her lips were curling into as she looked at the bottle that could have paid for Nico’s electricity bill for months.

“Wine . . .?”

“Go ahead!” Yukiho pushed the bottle into Nishikino’s hands.

She kept staring at the bottle, her knuckles whitening. She licked her lips. Nico’s eyes narrowed as she watched her body start to tremble. Was she seriously that upset over a housewarming gift?

Nishikino furiously shook her head and held the bottle out at arms’ length. “I don’t want it,” she said.

“There’s no need to be so polite—”

“I’m not being polite. I don’t want it.”

Crestfallen, Yukiho moved to take back the bottle, but before she could, Nico snatched it away.

“You could just say no thank you. No need to be so rude.”

“Nico, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine!” Nico turned to face Yukiho, jabbing her thumb towards Nishikino. “You’re being super sweet and friendly, and she’s just being an ungrateful bitch!”

“ _Nico!_ ” Yukiho said, a horrified expression on her face.

A soft sobbing noise caught Nico’s attention, and she turned her head back to Nishikino. Her head was downcast, and her eyes were covered by her unkempt bangs, but Nico could clearly see tears streaming down her cheeks and hear her poorly covered up sobs.

Nico felt her insides twist and turn, realizing too late that she had turned off her filters and spoken without thinking. She took a step forward, and as she did Nishikino took a step back, hiding behind her door again. “Nishikino, I . . .”

“I didn’t invite you over here,” she said between sobs. “You came here on your own, giving me shit I never asked for . . .”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it!?”

Her raspy voice rang out like the crack of a whip, forcing Nico backwards. She looked up and her once dull and lifeless eyes were now casting fire, at the same time as they were pouring out tears.

Nico opened her mouth, trying desperately to think of an answer to salvage the situation. Unable to, she closed her mouth and looked down at her feet. “I don’t know.”

“Figures,” Nishikino said. Nico looked back up; it looked like Nishikino wanted to say something else. Eventually, she just sighed and muttered, “Goodbye,” before slamming the door in Nico’s face, leaving her and Yukiho alone on the porch again.

Nico, feeling like the literal worst person in the universe, slowly turned to Yukiho, who stood there with crossed arms and a scowl. “Yukiho, I—”

“Don’t.”

She flinched at the sharpness in her best friend’s voice. Glancing back at the door, she asked, “Should I apologize?”

“I think you’ve done enough for today.”

Nico rubbed her arm as she stepped away. “I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled.

Yukiho grabbed onto Nico’s arm, just a bit tighter than was comfortable, and pulled her towards the gate. “Then for once, just don’t say anything.”

\--

_Earlier that morning . . ._

\--

Her cell phone rang from where it sat on the sofa, having been carelessly thrown there earlier that morning. She was sitting in front of a massive grand piano on the other side of the room, before a glass door that opened to a balcony overlooking the beach, her posture and expression suggesting a woman mentally preparing herself to give a performance. Regardless, the keylid was firmly shut, her fingers merely resting against the sleek ebony surface, a scowl of consternation marring her face. She shot an uneasy glance at her phone as it continued ringing for another few seconds, before it finally stopped.

With a sigh of relief, she allowed her hands to fall limply to her chair as she leaned forward to rest her head against the piano’s lid. Only a few seconds later, her phone chimed again, signaling a new voice message.

_Must be from Mama._

She turned her head to look out the window. To her surprise, she realized that the Sun was beginning to rise, gently peeking up over the gently sloped roof of the house across the street from her. _She must have been working a late shift at the hospital again. I hope she can get more rest than me._ As she thought this, she could feel that all-encompassing ache in her body and soul that came from countless nights of lost sleep. Her normally sparkling violet eyes were dull and unfocused, and her bright red hair was unkempt and several days unwashed.

The same notification chimed out from her phone a second time. With a groan, she pulled herself out of her chair and walked over to the sofa, taking care not to trip over the numerous unpacked boxes that had been littering her floor in the days since she moved in. She grabbed her phone and, after a moment of hesitation, swiped her thumb over the smooth glass. Seconds later, she heard her mother’s voice.

_Hello Maki, it’s me. I just got off work and thought I’d call to check up on you. I know you’re probably still asleep, but it’s not like you would have answered if you were awake anyways._

Her grip tightened around the phone.

_At any rate, I hope you’re settling into the new place alright, and that you’re finding the solitude to be therapeutic. Just don’t forget to crack open a textbook every now and again; the year will pass by before you know it, and we wouldn’t want you to forget everything you learned in college before going into medical school. Nishikino General can’t afford to wait for its heiress for much longer._

The gentle, clinical voice of her mother let out a small laugh that, on the surface, sounded genuine and mirthful. Maki, however, knew that it was really her mother’s way of saying, _You’ve already fucked up enough for one lifetime, so you’d better get your shit together._ Or something to that effect.

_At any rate, I should be getting to bed. Please call me whenever you feel up to it, if for no other reason than to keep me from worrying about you so much. Love you._

The phone beeped one more time and fell silent, replaced by the gentle ticking of a clock resting on her mantle and the faint sound of the waves hitting the far-off shore. Maki let out a sigh and tossed her phone back onto the sofa, with her body quickly following as she buried her face into the soft upholstery.

_Thanks, Mama. Love you too._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally pulled myself away from Octopath Traveler long enough to get something posted. As always, let me know what you think. Especially the scene with Nico and Maki; I'm still not super happy with how that turned out. That being said, I'll probably go back and revise this chapter a bit at a later date, but for now I just wanted to get it out. Hope you enjoyed it anyways.
> 
> In the next chapter, you can look forward to appearances from other LL characters, as well as more angst. Which I can only assume is the reason you're reading this in the first place.


	3. Better Off Without Me

_\--  
_ _Three years ago . . ._  
\--

This was it. The day she had been working towards her entire life. The pot of gold at the end of her rainbow. The culmination of all her dreams and desires. The climax.

And she was happy.

As she stepped out onto the stage, the crowd roared. The lights centered on her, illuminating her in every color known to man, popping against the bright pink of her costume—a checkered skirt and blazer patterned after the Otonokizaka High uniform, because if there was ever a time to be mindful of her roots, it was now. As her bright red eyes swept over the crowd (at least twice the size of any crowd she had ever performed for), her lips stretched and parted in an open-mouthed smile, and she threw up her hands in her signature pose.

“Nico Nico Nii!”

The audience responded almost immediately after she said it, the sound more melodious than any music she would be performing that night. She went on with her pre-show spiel, mostly unchanged from past performances (“Nico-Nii is so happy to see all of you!,” “Are you ready to have some fun?,” etc.), with a brief addendum to thank everyone for making this show possible. She strutted along the stage in her persona, the audience eating out of the palm of her hand.

This was it. This was what she was born to do. She was Nico-Nii, Number One Idol in the Universe.

Soon enough, she started singing, her backup quickly joining her on stage. She started with one of her more popular songs, hoping to get the crowd hyped up even more, and it worked. They sang along with the lyrics, their voices mostly drowned out by the heavy thrum of the bass, and the front couple of rows quickly devolved into a mosh pit. Nico stepped over to the edge of the stage and swept her hands over the outstretched arms of her dear fans.

She was happy. She was happy. This was her dream. She was definitely happy.

Forget the uncertainty brewing in the pit of her stomach. Forget the niggling feeling of guilt in the back of her mind. She was Nico Yazawa, dammit. When she was on stage, nothing else mattered.

It didn’t matter.

Nico’s heart stopped. Her dancing stopped soon after, and her voice died down. She looked around her. Her backup was still singing. The speakers were still thumping, and the crowd was still roaring. So why couldn’t she hear it? Why was her head aching all of the sudden, like the worst hangover she’d ever experienced?

She swayed on her feet, as the other women on stage started to notice what was happening. She squeezed her eyes shut; the brightly-colored lights that at first felt exhilarating were now an assault on the senses. Her heart started pounding in her chest as she broke out into a cold sweat. She didn’t know where she was anymore, the auditorium the furthest thing from her mind. All she knew, was that she was losing something. She reached out her hand to try and grab onto it, but it slipped through her fingers. A name stood on the tip of her tongue, its shape forever lost to the sands of time.

She opened her eyes and found herself lying on the neon stage, her manager kneeling over her and calling her name. She could hear nothing.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was three days later, and she was in the hospital. Her manager was still there, as were her mother and Nozomi and Eli. They filled her in on what had happened, and the doctor came in shortly after to give the details. She had suffered from an anxiety attack, seemingly out of nowhere. She wouldn’t be leaving the hospital for a while. And she certainly wouldn’t be performing any time soon.

Nico nodded along, not listening to what he was saying. She already knew everything she needed to know.

This had been it. Her big chance. And she blew it.

\--  
_Present_  
\--

It had been three days since the incident at Nishikino’s house. Three days since Nico sequestered herself in her bedroom, only speaking to Yukiho the occasional grunt from the other side of her door, just to reassure her friend that she was still alive. Three days since Nico—stupid, bitter, toxic Nico—made a complete ass out of herself, and embarrassed her best friend, who was only trying to help her, in the process.

She was laying in her bed, wearing the same clothes she had worn the day before. Her eyes were pointed at the ceiling, looking at nothing, and she plucked out random notes on her guitar. When she first picked it up in high school, the instrument felt as a living creature, that needed a deft hand to be coaxed into singing. As she held it now, it felt like a newly-dead corpse, still intact but cold and lifeless.

All this time, that accursed Melody played in her head, like the memory of a rotten break-up.

The worst part of it all was the guilt. Nico would close her eyes and see the Nishikino’s tears and trembling hands and hear the crack in her voice as she told them to go away, and it made her feel like dirt. And it shouldn’t have, because Nishikino was being a total prick herself, right? How was it fair that she got to go all weepy and turn Nico into the bad guy? Why wasn’t Yukiho pissed off at Nishikino too? Hell, why wasn’t she thanking Nico for sticking up for her? Why was Nico always the villain? Why was Nico always so stubborn and loudmouthed; why was she such a fucking—

Nico tensed her arms and hurled the guitar across the room, finding little comfort in the dissonant notes that rang out as it clattered to the floor. She slammed her head against her pillow, folding it over her ears in a vain attempt to drown the incessant tune. She knew it was hopeless; the Melody was always at its worst when she was alone and stuck inside of her head. She couldn’t drown it out. She needed an escape.

Her eyes perked up. She turned her head and removed it from the pillow, crawling over to her nightstand (a glossy piece of polished mahogany) and pulling open the drawer. Most of its contents were uninteresting—hair accessories, ear plugs, an e-reader, and various other trifles she would want within reach of her bed—aside from a small, roughly-hewn wooden box pushed against the back wall of the drawer. She pulled it out and gave it a shake; it was light. The contents barely made a noise as they rattled around, but she could feel them in there. She remembered what they were, and why she held on to them.

_An escape . . ._

There was a knock on the door, startling Nico, who threw the wooden box back in her drawer and slammed it shut as she rose to her feet.

The door cracked open and Yukiho poked her head inside. “Everything okay in here?”

“Of course, why do you ask?” Nico said in a single breath.

“There was a noise.”

“Oh. That.” Nico’s eyes wandered to over to the fallen guitar, lying face down against the edge of the floor. Yukiho sighed when she looked at the abused instrument.

“You need to take better care of this.” Yukiho picked up the guitar as she chastised Nico, running her hands along the neck, heavily scratched and chipped from years of use. She plucked the E string, wincing at the harsh tone. “When was the last time you tuned it?”

Nico sat on the bed, jaw clenched. “Does it matter at this point?”

“It does!” Yukiho walked over to Nico and held out the guitar as though she were preparing to knight her with it. “A good musician cares for her instruments as though they were part of her body.”

“I’m not . . .” Nico looked up at Yukiho, whose eyes dared her to finish her thought. She swallowed back her words and grabbed the neck of the guitar. With a grunt, Nico started fiddling with the tuning keys, shuffling nervously under Yukiho’s gaze.

She plucked a couple of strings. “Could you grab me a pitch pipe?”

\--

For the rest of that day, things almost felt as though they were back to normal. Almost. Nico felt comfortable talking to Yukiho again, no longer feeling like she had to keep herself locked in her bedroom. Yukiho, for her part, never brought up the incident and generally gave the impression that she was over it. Yet, every so often Nico would feel eyes on the back of her neck, and when she turned to Yukiho she would see her eyes dart away. Nico counted at least ten times that this happened that afternoon, and every time she was questioned about it, Yukiho would reply, “No, it’s nothing.”

Something was bothering her. Probably not the incident at Nishikino’s; her eyes seemed more pensive than angry. They had the look of someone dying to say something, but unable to find the right words to say it. It wasn’t long before Nico started to feel like Yukiho was hiding something from her, and later that evening, as she stepped out of the first shower she had taken in three days, Nico resolved to ask her what that was.

With this resolve, Nico dried herself off—trying to ignore, as she always did, the haggard look in her eyes and the indent of her ribcage against her abdomen—and got dressed. As she stepped out of her bedroom, she heard Yukiho’s hushed voice float up from the living room.

“. . . just tell him I still need some time to think about it.”

Nico halted at the top of the stairs and peeked over the railing. Yukiho was standing at the back door, staring out the window as she talked on her phone. Her hand was digging into her hip, and she regularly shifted her weight from one foot to the other. As she talked, her tone grew more exasperated.

“A lot!” she said. “It’s not like I can make this decision overnight.”

Nico’s heart caught in her throat. She leaned forward, practically hanging out of the balcony, to make sure she could hear Yukiho’s hushed tone.

“Alisa, please . . . I can’t just leave her like that . . .”

Yukiho turned around and started to slowly walk towards the center of the room. Nico ducked behind the railing to avoid detection.

“I know you don’t. I just . . . Okay, fine. Tell him I’ll have answer by tomorrow.”

. . .

“I love you too. Bye.”

There was a gentle click as Yukiho tapped her finger against the phone’s screen, followed by a pained sigh. Just as Nico realized that she was still visible behind the railing, Yukiho sat on the sofa and looked up, right into her eyes.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Yukiho stared at her with her lips pursed, and Nico stared back, clutching the bars of the railing like a caged animal.

“How long have you been up there?”

“Just a few minutes,” Nico said, slowly standing back up.

“Oh. I thought you were still in the shower.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” Nico descended into the living room, staring at Yukiho’s bowed head. “Something you wanna tell me?”

“N-No, it’s not—”

“Yukiho.”

She flinched at Nico’s tone. With a deep breath, she stood up, her back perfectly straight, and spoke in a tone that was some half-measure between nervous and composed:

“I was offered a gig.”

Nico blinked, lingering at the foot of the stairs. “I’m sorry?”

As Yukiho spoke, her talking grew faster. “This guy I knew in college, he started a band. They’ve been getting a lot of attention online, but they’re still short some people. He asked me to be their bassist.”

“Just now?”

“The night that I came here. That’s what me and Alisa were fighting about. She wanted me to take it, but I wasn’t sure, so . . .”

Yukiho’s voice faltered, her arms crossing over her chest. Her words ran through Nico’s mind. A new job. A real music gig. A band with a lot of attention. Her lower lip trembled, just once.

“Is that it?” Quiet and calm. That was what Nico needed to be right now.

Yukiho’s brow furrowed. “What d’you mean, is that it?”

“If you were wanting to work with someone else, you should have just said so from the beginning.”

“But,” Yukiho said, approaching Nico until they were face-to-face, “what about you? We said—”

“What about me?” Nico’s voice came out louder than she meant. Softer: “I’ve been telling you this whole time that you’d be better off without me. I’m glad you’re finally starting to listen.”

Nico took Yukiho’s hand in both of her smaller ones and looked up at her with a smile. “Listen. You’re a great musician. You deserve to be with someone who can take you somewhere. You deserve success.”

“So do you,” Yukiho said in barely a whisper.

“I’ve already had my success,” Nico said, gesturing around her. “Look where it’s gotten me.”

Yukiho bit her lower lip. She was hesitating. “I’d have to go back to Tokyo. Probably tomorrow.”

“Do what you have to do.” Nico looked down to the floor “Besides, after what happened the other day, you’re probably getting sick of having to deal with me.”

Yukiho tilted her head to try and meet Nico’s eyes. This was the first time either of them had made any reference to the incident at Nishikino’s house.

“You know I’m not mad about that, right?”

Nico didn’t answer. She looked out the window, towards the veranda, and took note of the orange sun slowly making its way to the horizon.

Turning back to Yukiho with a smile, she said, “There’s a really nice bar a few miles from here. Why don’t we go out and celebrate your new gig?”

Yukiho narrowed her eyes. “Nico—”

“I swear to God Yukiho, if you don’t take the job, I’ll throw you in a box and personally ship you back to Tokyo.” Nico squeezed Yukiho’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Yukiho smiled back at her and said with a nod, “You’ll keep in touch?”

“I’ll call every day. I’ll call so much you’ll get sick of me.”

Yukiho laughed and pulled her into a hug. She stroked Nico’s raven hair and Nico buried her face into the crook of her neck, hoping that she didn’t notice as her smile started to fade.

\--

“I _am_ happy for her,” Nico insisted. “It’s a great opportunity.”

Nozomi’s voice answered, tinny and muffled, through her phone’s speakers. “I’m sure it will be, but it is quite a sudden change of plans.”

“Yeah, well sometimes plans need to change. Yukiho deserves to be successful, not to be held back by some old—”

“Nicocchi. What have I told you about negative self-talk?”

“Tch.” Nico pouted, throwing her head against her pillow, loosely holding her phone against her cheek. It was pitch black outside, and to the best of her knowledge, Yukiho had long since retired for the night. “Stop acting like my therapist just because you’re a psych major.”

“Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to settle for being your friend. And as your friend—”

“Ugh, spare me,” Nico said with a groan.

“—and as your friend, I’m worried about you.”

“Join the club.”

“Nicocchi, please listen.”

As she opened her mouth for another retort, her mind flashed back to a girl with messy red hair and sad violet eyes. “Fine,” she muttered.

“You can disagree all you want, but I know that you have talent. I’ve seen it. And it hurts to see you wasting it.”

Nico’s lips tightened. Her eyes wandered over to the freshly-tuned guitar propped up against her wall. “I get that. But I don’t really know what else to do with it,” she finally said.

“Are you saying you’ve lost your passion?”

“It’s not so much that; I still like music. I just don’t think I have any more of it in me.”

After a pause, Nozomi said, “Do you want to quit?”

Nico nodded. “I think that would be best for me.”

“In that case,” Nozomi said with a sigh, “what now, Nicocchi? I know you don’t want to hear this, but I really do think you should consider therapy.”

“I know. I’ll think about it. I just need some time to myself for now, without worrying about work.”

“Feel free to call me or Elicchi anytime. Especially if you ever have . . . thoughts.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that far gone,” Nico said with a smile.

“Good.” Like a light switch, Nozomi’s tone shifted from relieved to strict. “And call your mother. She worries about you more than anyone else, and you barely talk to her.”

“Ugh, I thought the nagging was done,” Nico moaned.

“Nico.”

“I know, I know.”

. . .

“Hey, Nozomi?” Her voice was low and barely audible.

“Yes, Nicocchi?”

“. . . thank you.”

“Whatever for?”

Nico rolled her eyes, imagining the twinkle in the infuriating woman’s eyes. “You know what for.”

“Don’t mention it,” Nozomi said with a laugh.

\--

“Are you sure you have everything?” Nico asked, as she watched Yukiho slam the trunk of her car shut.

“For the last time, yes. Not like I brought much with me anyways,” Yukiho said, rolling her eyes.

“I just don’t want you calling me in the middle of the night to tell me you forgot something.”

Yukiho stood next to her car, fiddling with her keys as she stared at the asphalt beneath her. Nico stood in front of her with her hands on her hips.

“What now?”

“I just . . .” She looked back up. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

Nico scowled. “You’re going to finally be starting your career now, you can’t keep worrying about me.”

“Nico, you’re my best friend. I’m going to worry anyways.”

Nico swallowed back the hot lump growing in her throat. She had made her decision. This was definitely what she wanted. But that didn’t make letting go any easier. The drive to Tokyo was only a few hours, so why did it feel like Yukiho was leaving her forever? She clenched her fists, determined to appear strong and firm, lest Yukiho change her mind.

“In that case, go back to Tokyo and be successful. That’s what would make me happy. And when you play your first concert, I want a front-row seat.”

“Of course,” Yukiho said as her eyes started to tear up. “You . . .”

Yukiho shook her head and pulled her into a hug. Nico could feel tears start to fall from Yukiho’s chin to the top of her head. She fought back tears of her own.

“The hell you crying for?” she muttered, clutching onto the sleeve of Yukiho’s jacket. “You only live a few hours away,”

“Sorry,” Yukiho said with a hollow laugh as she pulled away.

In the clouds above their heads, the sun was mostly hidden, but Nico could barely make out a patch of light approaching the sky’s zenith.

“Almost noon. You should probably get going if you want to miss rush hour.”

Yukiho nodded as she placed her hand on the door handle. “Right.”

Within seconds, she was in the car, rolling her window down. “Promise you’ll call?”

“Of course. And you text me when you get back, okay?”

“Okay. Nico . . .”

Their eyes met one last time. Yukiho gave her that look again, but this time she didn’t need to say anything. Nico already knew. She tapped the top of the car and said, “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.”

With that, Yukiho rolled up her window and pulled out of Nico’s driveway. Nico raised her hand in a gesture somewhere between a wave and a salute and watched her drive away. She turned to go back inside, doing her best not to make eye contact with the house next door.

It was clean inside. Cleaner than she ever remembered it being. The idol magazine that had been lying on the coffee table was replaced with a leather-bound edition of some Western novel she had never heard of. In the kitchen, the countertops were wiped down and only a few dishes remained in the sink, the sullen remains of a rushed breakfast.

It was noon on the dot now. She might start thinking about lunch. She opened the fridge—there was nothing but a dusty coke bottle and a jug of spoiled milk. Hanging on the door was a picture of eight high-school girls in plaid skirts and blazers, smiling at the camera and each other. When Nico looked at those girls, recognizing herself among them, the tears that she’d been holding back—at least since that morning but possibly throughout her entire life—begin trickling down her sallow cheeks.

“Thanks a lot, Yukiho,” she muttered to the phantom her best friend had left behind, trying in vain to wipe the salt-water off of her face.

She meandered around her house, like a butterfly in search of nectar, suddenly realizing how absurdly big it was for just one person. She found herself in the guest room, whose spotless surfaces and meticulously made bed gave no indication that anyone had been within recently. Her own bedroom, already reverting to its condition of messiness before Yukiho came uninvited in the middle of the night.

Back to her study. Cleaned and reorganized, dust-free, empty, hopeless, hateful. Trembling with a tearful rage, Nico tore down the posters adorning her wall and knocked down the shelves upon shelves of music books and idol magazines because what good were they now? If she’d had a match on her, she might have burned them on the spot, and danced naked around the flames.

So long idols. So long music. So long all her hopes and dreams.

So long Nico-Fucking-Nico-Nii.

Finished with the Inquisition of her former life, Nico stalked back into her bedroom to the worn guitar lying across her bed. She grabbed it by the neck and threw open her windows, allowing the sea air to wash over her face.

The clouds were darkening. It would rain soon.

With a strangled cry, Nico unleashed the last of her anger. A faraway thud signaled the end of the guitar’s descent; it was the beach’s problem now. Hopefully the tide would come in and carry the damned thing away, and she would never have to see it again.

Her job finished, she turned around and stumbled over to her bed.

_What now, Nicocchi?_

She shook her head. Later. For the love of Christ, she would think about that later. Right now, she just didn’t want to think at all. She looked to the drawer of her nightstand. No one to interrupt her again, her mind was made up.

She reached into the drawer and pulled out the wooden box, its position askew from being tossed back in the previous night. Still trembling, she undid the latch and opened the box—several long strips of paper, divided into ten square sections, a small pair of scissors beneath them.

When was the last time she did this? she wondered as she pulled a strip out, bringing it and the scissors to her bed. She cut a single square off the end and put the rest aside. It had been a while, and she remembered that they were fairly large doses. Best not to overdo it.

She settled into her soft mattress, as though getting ready to take a nap. In a way, she was. With a sigh, she opened her mouth and lay the square sheet of paper under her tongue. As the rain started to fall outside and the paper dissolved in her mouth, former musician Nico Yazawa was whisked away from this world, uncertain when she would return.

\--

“Nozomi?”

She looked up from the too-small table she had managed to claim, crammed in a corner of the busy coffee shop. Eli was standing before her, a plastic cup of iced coffee in her hand. Her strong brow twisted in concern, in that adorable way that it did.

“Elicchi. I was wondering how much longer you’d keep me waiting.”

“Sorry, I was on the phone with Yukiho,” Eli explained as she sat down opposite her fiancé. “She’s heading back right now.” Her eyes darted to the surface of the table in front of Nozomi. A deck of cards, too large to be normal Poker cards. “Doing a reading?”

“You’re too smart by half, Elicchi,” Nozomi said with a smile, picking up her own drink—an absurdly sweet frappe, because she had felt like indulging herself—and swirling the straw in the cup. Her eyes wandered back to the cards. “I’m worried about Nico.”

Eli nodded. “We all are,” she muttered.

“I’ve been having these strange dreams lately. I can never remember what they are, but I think they’ve something to do with her condition. It makes me fearful every morning.”

Eli hummed as she sipped from her straw. “Do you think it’s a premonition?”

“I’ve never experienced fortunes through dreams. No one in my family has.”

They fell into silence. The cards were shuffled and ready to go. Her hands stayed off them.

“I wonder if there’s more I should be doing for her.”

“Nozomi,” Eli reached under the table and clasped her knee. “You aren’t her therapist. Just because you’re studying psychology doesn’t mean you’re obligated to try and fix everyone. Even the people you care about.”

Nozomi nodded. “I know. Yet, I can’t help but feel like I am responsible for her in some way.”

A raised eyebrow. “Nozomi . . .?”

A chime went off in Eli’s front pocket. With a frown, she pulled out her phone. “It’s Alisa.”

“Go ahead.”

As Eli rose with a muttered apology and meandered towards the exit, Nozomi’s hands began drifting to the cards. She shook her head; she could never explain what she felt to Eli. She had spent most of her life in shrines, she had a natural affinity for the supernatural or metaphysical. She knew that something was off. And she worried that it had something to do with Nico. And she would find out what, in the name of every god and spirit she knew of.

With a grim look of determination, Nozomi flipped over the top card on her deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: SO I HEARD YOU LIKED ANGST
> 
> In all seriousness, the next chapter will be something a bit different. I don't know that it'll necessarily be lighter, but it will be different.
> 
> Also, if you don't understand what Nico was doing at the end, do a Google search for "tenstrip." Preferably, in an incognito tab.


	4. The Ghost on the Shore

Colors. Shapes. Swirling in an endless vortex around her. Coating her in hues of red, blue, yellow, soft, fuzzy, sweet, salty, colors beginning and ending and mixing into one another in a sensual union of sight and sound. She opened her eyes, and the colors lingered, taking the shape of her bedroom.

The blues formed her ceiling, a vast cloudless sky with a haloed sun in three parts. Greens formed into a blanket, covering her in stalks of grass and wildflowers. And she, the earth below. The foundation. The beginning and end of things. She reached towards that sky, eager to feel the warm rays of the sun against her bare arm and suddenly found herself uprooted. Her feet against the brown wooden floor, feeling its brownness against her bare feet.

Air whooshed around her, and she was flying. She looked out over her living room, and it seemed at once to be the whole world, yet too small for her. She was a bird, and she wanted to stretch her wings over the universe. This world was a cage, she wanted to be free.

She saw a gate of light and glass, opening before her to the Great Beyond. She stepped over the staircase leading into the living room and found herself outside, delighting in the taste of the rain hitting her skin. A bouquet of sweet and spicy, with a current of melancholy running through it. She looked past the curtains of precipitation and saw a great Blackness before her, churning and changing and inviting her to plunge beneath its depths.

\--

The rain, cold and exhilarating, struck Maki’s skin as she breathed in the salty air. As a child, she had always been terrified of storms, and even now couldn’t help but cringe at the sound of thunder. But in the rain, the silent and peaceful rain, she was able to find some calm, a rarity for her. The things that hung over her shoulder—unpacked boxes of medical textbooks, the stern gaze of her mother, the harsh reprimand of a raven-haired stranger who has been stuck in the back of her mind for days—they could all be washed away under the gentle raindrops. At least, for a little bit.

She let out a sigh, her breath appearing before her in a puff of steam. The tide rolled over her bare feet, which she dug further into the wet sand. She would need to go inside soon; the last thing she needed was to catch a cold. Another sigh. She hoped it wouldn’t start thundering.

Turning aside, she followed the shoreline on the slow trek back up the hill. Her mind wandered back to her phone, resting on top of her piano. The last call from her mother was four days ago; she would be expecting a reply soon. Maki cringed at the thought. She wondered if a text message would suffice. Perhaps an email.

Her thoughts were cut short when she felt something hard bump against her ankle. She looked down and saw a worn guitar, soaked and coated with sand, being pulled in front of her by the tide. She reached down and grabbed it, studying it with narrowed eyes. It was scratched, dirty, and beaten up, but it looked like it was once a very respectable instrument, owned by someone who didn’t know or care to maintain it.

Maki shook her head, slinging the guitar around her shoulder by the worn leather strap. _The nerve of some people_.

\--

She found the stairs to the beach, dancing over them to the Melody swirling around her, its notes spinning around and dodging the falling raindrops. She saw the notes and followed their trail, determined to find their origin.

 --

Maki heard footsteps approaching from further up the beach. Erratic footsteps with no rhythm. A pained moan. She turned her head, expecting to see an early-afternoon drunk. Her eyes widened. Several meters away, her raven hair plastered to her head, Yazawa was standing and staring at her.

\--

A woman stood before her, rising from the seas with a guitar in her hand. She seemed to wear the rain around her like a robe of flowing gold and silver. She plucked at the strings and sang, her voice ringing out like a Siren’s. She was playing the Melody. Her Melody. Nico’s Melody.

Their Melody.

\--

Maki gulped and slumped her shoulders. Yazawa’s face was expressionless. _Surely, she recognizes me_ , Maki wondered. _Should I say something?_

\--

Her voice was clear and crystalline, her eyes sparkling. The rain parted around her like a curtain, and through the clouds the sun shone down on her like a spotlight. Nico took a step forward. She wanted to be closer. Closer to that shining voice, those dancing eyes, that angelic being rising from the Darkness. She jumped in a boat and sailed on a journey away from the shore, towards her new home.

Dark shadows were skimming the shifting waters of the seas around her. They followed her, desperate to hold her back, but she sailed on. Rain pelted her face, yet she felt dry and warm under the eyes of the beautiful Siren. The Melody continued.

Closer and closer she came. Nico reached out her hand. The woman smiled at her, a sweet, delicious smile, and reached out her hand. She was closer. She was there. She was Home.

\--

Yazawa stepped forward, slow and unsteady like a zombie. Maki approached in turn. She saw her unfocused eyes and noticed the way her body was swaying, as though she were drunk. But she wasn’t drunk, Maki was certain of that. When she was just a few feet away, Yazawa’s eyes perked up, as though she had just then noticed Maki standing there. Her eyes widened, and she started trembling.

“Yazawa?”

She was now close enough that she could see Yazawa’s dilated pupils, her bright-red irises thin rings around massive black disks. Maki pursed her lips—she _definitely_ wasn’t drunk.

“Can you understand me?” she asked.

Yazawa’s eyes locked onto Maki’s. She stumbled backwards, mouth hanging open. “Guh . . .”

“Maki Nishikino. Your neighbor?”

Yazawa nodded and reached out her hand. She was looking at Maki as though she were an angel descending from heaven.

_Christ, Yazawa, how much did you take?_

Unsure what else to do, Maki reached out to take her hand.

\--

Nico sailed past, the Siren evaporating before her like a phantom. Her boat stopped in the water, and she looked around. The sun was gone, and the rain continued pouring as usual. She was stranded in the middle of the ocean, the water starting to gather in her boat.

\--

Yazawa stumbled forward, groping as though she meant to grab on, but then she sidestepped past Maki and continued walking towards the sea. Maki blinked as she turned and watched Yazawa stop, the water now coming up to her waist, and look around her, bewildered.

\--

She called out for the Siren, begging her to come back and rescue her from the sinking ship, but there was no answer. The Melody was gone. Clouds pooled over her head as the Darkness came up to her chest. She looked up at the sky one last time, and her head plunged beneath the inky black.

\--

Yazawa turned and looked up into the sky. She said something that Maki couldn’t hear over the rain, her eyes dull and unfocused.

Then she sank below the water.

Maki watched in a stunned silence. Once she began processing what had just happened, she tossed the guitar back onto the sand and broke out into a sprint. The water came up to her thighs; she waded deeper in.

“ _Yazawa!_ ” she cried, desperately searching for her neighbor’s raven hair in the distressed surface of the water. She took a deep breath and plunged under the surface, barely cognizant of the fact that her swimming abilities were less than stellar. Eyes stinging from the salt water, she groped around half-blind, until she felt the wet fabric of Yazawa’s t-shirt.

She was half-sitting on the gritty sea floor, arm still outstretched. Maki wrapped her arms around her thin waist and pulled. She was light, which shouldn’t have been surprising considering her stature. Maki placed a hand to Yazawa’s chest. No heartbeat.

She pushed any worry out of her mind and focused on making it back to the shore. Mercifully, neither of them had gotten too far away. After a few weak paddles, Maki’s feet found purchase against the sand, and she broke through the surface of the water, Yazawa clinging to her back like a sleeping child.

The minute that Maki spent struggling against the tide and pulling Yazawa out of the sea and back onto dry land was the longest sixty seconds of her life. Everything that came afterwards was easy, second-nature almost. Everything she had studied in her textbooks and college courses came flooding back to her. Maki gulped as she laid Yazawa out on the sand. This was her first patient. She would live, damnit.

Maki laid her ear against Yazawa’s chest. Still nothing. She gathered the saliva in her mouth—there wasn’t much—and spat on the sand next to her, wiping her lips dry. She forced Yazawa’s lips open and pressed her mouth against them, pushing air in and trying not to grimace at the taste of metal left behind by the LSD.

She sank into a rhythm. Three pushes against the chest. More air. Three more pushes. Ear against the chest, no heartbeat. More air. One more push, and Yazawa came back to life, hacking the sea back out of her lungs and shuddering in the cold.

With a sigh of relief, Maki turned Yazawa on her side to keep the rain from undoing all her work. Her patient let out a pained moan. Maki stroked her arm. With a relieved smile, she said, “You’re okay, jackass.” She wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Yazawa or herself.

A flash of lightening; a clap of thunder. Maki suddenly found herself eager to get back inside. She hurried Yazawa onto her back once more, certain that she was done gagging, and grabbed the neck of the discarded guitar. She sprinted back up the hill, nearly forgetting the sandals she had left at the end of the gravel trail to her house.

\--

She was floating. Darkness surrounding her, pressing against her, imposing its will on her. She reached out, praying that someone would pull her above the surface, but no one came. Everyone had left her. She was alone.

She couldn’t breathe; she had no air. No light. Couldn’t see.

No warmth. No music.

No love.

No hope.

Just a silent freefall into the abyss.

Maybe this was where she belonged after all.

Her wings were clipped. She would not be flying today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't do drugs, kids. 
> 
> Or do, I'm not your dad.


End file.
